


Grimmons Tower of Procreation Fluff

by TigTheCat



Series: Tower of Procreation [4]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Top - Freeform, Tower of Procreation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-30 02:33:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19032973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TigTheCat/pseuds/TigTheCat
Summary: When Tucker "accidentally" activates the Tower of Procreation on Chorus, Grif and Simmons end up locked in a closet together.





	Grimmons Tower of Procreation Fluff

When Simmons heard over the comms that Tucker had “accidentally” activated the Tower of Procreation, he speed walked to the nearest storage closet and locked himself in. He hated to admit it, but the thing that everyone always teased him about was true; he was a virgin. He was trying to figure out what to do for the next few hours when he started feeling hot and kind of weird. He had just finished shucking his armor, placing it neatly into a pile, and was feeling much cooler, when he heard the doorknob jiggle, and then it began to turn.

“Of all the times to have the lock malfunction!” he thought, getting ready to tell whoever it was to go the hell away. “Grif?” Simmons said, surprised to see his teammate carrying an armload of snacks into the closet.

“Simmons, what the fuck?” Grif said, the door clicking closed quietly behind him. “Here I am, trying to enjoy my day off, and here you are, ruining it.”

“You spend your days off in a storage closet?” Simmons had been so busy focusing on Grif that he had almost forgot about his condition, but Grif quickly brought it to his attention.

“Why aren’t you wearing your armor? I thought you of all people would be the one to wear armor everywhere except your bedroom. After all, you never know what those dirty blues are up to,” Grif said, mimicking Sarge for the last part. Simmons noticed that Grif was wearing all of his armor, and he suddenly felt self conscious. He could feel his neck beginning to flush, and he turned to start putting his armor back on. “You don’t have to put your armor back on,” Grif said. “I was joking.” He slid down the wall, scattering snack packages across the floor. “You do have to leave though. I’m not sure if you heard, but Tucker went and did some dumb shit and now we’re all supposed to be horny as fuck, or whatever, and I don’t want you ruining my sex temple fueled closet time.”

Simmons understood what Grif was saying, but he was having a hard time doing anything. “But I was here first,” he practically squeaked. Grif ignored him, pulling his helmet off and opening a bag of chips. Simmons sighed and walked over to the door. “I can always find another storage closet,” he thought. “Probably one that’s not so messy.” He kicked aside a few of Grif’s snacks on the way to the door, making sure to kick the chips extra hard. And then he pulled on the door handle, and nothing happened. The door handle turned, but the door didn’t open.

“What the fuck?” Grif said, sounding more anxious than he had a moment before.

“The door is locked, dumbass.” Simmons said. Now, of all times, was when the lock malfunctioned.

“Fuck,” Grif said under his breath, but Simmons still heard it. Simmons was beginning to feel hot again, so hot that he worried half of him might overheat, and he knew he had to do something. So he returned to the other side of the room and sat down.

“This is my side of the room,” Simmons managed to choke out, sure his voice sounded weird. “You stay over there.”

“Won’t be a problem,” Grif said, munching on the last of his first bag of chips. After a few minutes of awkward silence and not looking at each other, Grif stood up, and Simmons was worried he was going to notice how red his face was. Grif just turned around and starting taking off his armor, tossing it to the floor with reckless abandon. “Listen, dude,” Grif said. “I’m feeling kind of warm, probably because some dumbass locked me in a closet, so I’m gonna take my armor off. Also don’t look at me.” Simmons was sure Grif didn’t want him looking at him for the same reasons Simmons didn’t want Grif to look at him, which was his growing erection. He was thinking all the worst thoughts he could, about math problems he couldn’t solve and awkward situations he had been in, but nothing was working to stop him from feeling hot and bothered. “Dude,” Grif said, “You need to stop making that noise.”

“Wh-what?” Simmons stammered out. He hadn’t been aware that he was making any noise.

“You’re doing a weird panting thing, and it’s turning me on. So stop.” Simmons stopped breathing at all when Grif said this. He had not been prepared for his closest teammate, his best friend, to tell him that he was turning him on. Actually, no one had ever told him that before, but he wasn’t going to tell Grif that. “Dude you can breathe a little,” Grif said. Simmons took a deep breath, quickly becoming aware of how lightheaded he felt, and then he collapsed onto his side. He felt nearly sick, he was so horny. “Hey, are you okay?” Grif asked. Simmons thought that he actually sounded a little concerned, but he quickly brushed that thought away. Why would Grif sound concerned for him?

“Feel sick,” Simmons mumbled, feeling like a child.

He heard a shuffling noise, and then Grif said, “What’s wrong?” His voice sounded much closer than it had before. Simmons was too embarrassed to say anything, but he heard Grif quietly say, “Oh,” just a second later.

“Just go back over to your side of the room,” Simmons squeaked. Simmons kept his eyes squeezed shut, waiting to hear Grif shuffle back over to his side of the room, but there was just the sound of quiet breathing near him for a few moments. And then he felt a hand, Grif’s hand, on his shoulder, rubbing small circles along the line where his skin was grafted to metal. Grif’s hand moved across his shoulder to his back, still rubbing gentle circles, and then Grif’s hand moved down to Simmons’ lower back. Somehow Simmons had managed to stay quiet until this point, but he couldn’t help but gasp when Grif slipped his hand under his shirt to touch his back. Grif’s hand was surprisingly warm, and Simmons was actually feeling better, except for his new embarrassment after whatever weird sound he had just made. Grif chuckled a little, rubbing Simmons back for another moment and then tugging the hem up. Simmons sat up, and Grif pulled his shirt off. “Is this okay?” Grif said quietly. Simmons nodded, sure that anything he said out loud would just be an incoherent squeak. And then Grif did something Simmons never would have expected; he leaned forward and hugged Simmons. Simmons closed his eyes, trying to memorize how Grif’s body felt pressed up against him. Grif pulled away, far too soon, Simmons thought, and Simmons couldn’t help but sigh. 

"If you want, I could help you out," Grif said, his voice sounding different than it had before.

"Help me with -" Simmons started, pausing when he came to the realization that Dexter Grif, his teammate of over a decade, was offering to help him get off.

"I, I don't know," Grif mumbled, sounding unsure of himself. He stood, paused for a second, still looking away from Simmons, and then shuffled across the closet to his corner. 

"Wait," Simmons said, but his voice was too quiet, and it was too late. Grif had ripped open another bag a chips, but was eating them much slower than he had the last. Simmons took a deep breath and stood. "Grif," he said, quietly, taking a few small steps toward him. "I really," he paused. "I really like you." His voice was small, and he was fairly sure that Grif hadn't heard him. There was still time to sit back down, time to curl his body into the corner opposite Grif and wait for someone to open the closet or for death. Simmons was so lost in thought that he didn't hear Grif set down the bag of chips, didn't hear Grif stand, didn't notice that Grif was right beside him until Grif's arms were around him.

"I like you too, Dick," Grif whispered into his ear. Simmons wrapped his arms around Grif's waist, sliding his hand under the hem of Grif's shirt to touch a sliver of his back. 

"So, when you said "help me out," you meant - " Simmons began to say. Before he could finish his sentence, Grif was kissing him. Simmons pressed his body against Grif's, feeling his warmth and, more notably, his erection. After just a brief moment, Grif quickly stopped kissing Simmons and pulled away. Simmons looked at his face, and then turned to look at whatever Grif was looking at behind him. The door to the closet was open now, and Caboose was standing in the doorway. 

"I found them!" Caboose called down the hall, "Grif and Simmons were locked in this closet together!" 

Simmons' face felt like it was on fire, and he pressed it into his hands to hide the blush that was spreading rapidly. For just a second, Simmons felt Grif's hand on his back, rubbing small circles, and then Grif was gone. Simmons collected his armor from the floor, too tired to put it back on, and made his way back to his room. He was unsure that he would ever have the courage to talk to Grif again.


End file.
